


All This Denial Without a Life Vest in Sight

by orphan_account



Series: Captains of this Ship [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:14:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2187894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <i>It starts one Saturday afternoon, when, by complete chance, Akashi runs into Aomine at a local coffee house while visiting Tokyo for the weekend. After one bus trip and a short walk, he found himself in the quaint, little shop, sitting across from a slouching, troubled-looking Aomine, sipping tea from a disposable cup.</i><br/></p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	All This Denial Without a Life Vest in Sight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [masi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/masi/gifts).



> I'm a bit of a mess when it comes to writing these days. But that's mostly okay. While I seem to be scraping the bottom of my AkaKuro barrel (writing them is proving impossible), thanks to [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1049949) by [masi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/masi/pseuds/masi) (as well as a number of other awesome fics), I have discovered a new obsession: NijiAka! Unfortunately, there's not nearly enough out there about these two. This, here fic is my first attempt at the pairing, drudged up from the deepest part of my semi-creative being. Do be kind. But I hope you enjoy. Comments are always appreciated
> 
> Note that this Akashi doesn't call people by their given names here, because this takes place after Winter Cup, where 'old Akashi' has returned. Just so you know.
> 
> This is unbeta'd and barely edited. I'll make a point to come back and do a proper edit, I just really wanted to post this today.(Edited: 24/08/2014)

It starts one Saturday afternoon, when, by complete chance, Akashi runs into Aomine at a local coffee house. The redhead is visiting the family's main home (in Tokyo) for the weekend, at his father's request. After mere hours in the man's company, Akashi had needed some distance. So, after one bus trip and a short walk, he'd found himself in the quaint, little shop—his mother used to frequent the establishment before she succumbed to her illness—sitting across from a slouching, troubled-looking Aomine, sipping tea from a disposable cup.

“You look miserable,” Akashi delicately offers as a conversation starter. “Did you have another disagreement with Momoi?”

“Not really,” Aomine drawls, eyes shifting very slowly to meet the other's gaze. Akashi doesn't miss the slight sadness in the taller boy's eyes, vaguely identifying it as something familiar. Loneliness.

“Ah.” There's another stretch of silence while Akashi sips his tea, trying to find the best way to broach the subject of the other's misery—never once thinking to leave it untouched. This, he will later regret. All the while, he wonders why he's even bothering; they're not on the same team anymore, so Aomine's emotional well being is really none of his concern. And they can barely call each other 'friends'. Even so, he surges forward, because he can't leave things unfinished.

“You've always had a soft spot for Kuroko,” Akashi states, seemingly out of the blue. Aomine's gaze hardens minutely before he forces himself to relax. Akashi's hit the proverbial nail on the head, and mentally pats himself on the back, preening slightly over his ever reliable powers of deduction. “It can't be easy seeing him happy with someone else.”

Aomine raises one, dark eyebrow. Whether it's in warning or disbelief, the redhead has no inclination to care.

“All that pining in middle school,” Akashi continues, “though less conspicuous, was just as obvious as Kise's shameless adoration.”

Akashi smiles slightly at Aomine's self-pitying chuckle, watches as the other sips at the drink in his own cup. Clearly, the taller boy's not in the mood for a conversation, and, quite honestly, neither is Akashi. Also, his tea has gotten cold. There truly is no reason to stay. The redhead is about to excuse himself, when Aomine apparently find his voice, and something to throw Akashi off balance.

“Kinda like you used to pine after the captain?”

It's Akashi's turn to raise an eyebrow, whether it's a gesture of enquiry or incredulity is unknown. “Excuse me?”

“Nijimura-san this, Nijimura-san that,” Aomine says in a voice that Akashi believes to be a poor imitation of his childhood voice. “So. Much. Pining. Akashi. You were as bad as the rest of us.”

The jibe is meant as a light-hearted joke, nothing harmful, yet, for reasons he doesn't wish to delve into at the time, Akashi feels the need to break away from Aomine's dark stare. He doesn't, by sheer force of will. After all, he has nothing to hide. Right?

“You've always had a rather strange sense of humour, Aomine'” he retorts.

“I have? But, I'm not the only who thought so. I can honestly say that, at some point, we all thought you had a thing for the captain?”

“Is that so?” The redhead makes a mental note to give them all a good talking to. How dare they come to such ridiculous conclusions about him and his feelings? Insufferable children. He sighs, closing his eyes for just a moment, before squaring his shoulder and turning his most vicious glare on the other. “Well, you were all mistaken. Not that it should come as a surprise.”

“You sure about that?” Aomine drawls, a muted leer spreading across his face as he stretches his limbs to, basically, drape himself across the hard, wooden chair supporting him. Like a dead starfish. “You never thought he was good looking? Not even once? Hmm...”

“Of course not.” Akashi realises, too late, that the denial is given both too loudly, and too quickly—his mind is occupied with images of his team-mates whispering about him and their former captain in the shadows of secret corridors. He inhales slowly and imperceptibly. “You would do well not to entertain the notion. I must excuse myself; father must be worried.”

They both know it's a lie, but his former team-mate seems content enough to let it slide. How generous of him.

Aomine only smiles smugly, tilting his chin up ever so slightly, eyes half-lidded as though in deep thought. Akashi walks out and away from the coffee shop at a pace that is unnecessarily brisk, determined to forget the entire incident.

_Honestly_ , he admonishes himself, _this is what you get when you try and empathise with a Neanderthal!_

@

A week later and Akashi cannot, for the life of him, seem to get Aomine's insinuations out of his head. It's annoying, and distracting. And a fatuous lie. Completely and utterly false. He huffs indignantly, staring at the phone in his hands. He had been idly scrolling through his contacts and his fingers had paused their movement when he'd caught sight of Nijimura's number—not by accident.

For a brief moment, he thinks it would be funny to share this new piece of information with the older boy, but quickly decides that it would be a poor course of action. He doesn't need someone else to validate the absurdity of the entire idea. No, he'll just keep this to himself, and take it out on each one of his team-mates as and when he felt it was necessary.

Besides, Nijimura is probably busy studying, deciding on universities to attend, being in his last year of high school and all. Apparently, Akashi had managed to learn from the boy in question, Nijimura and his parents had decided that moving him to America that late in his academic career would have held him back. What with the education system differences, and Shūzō's desire to continue his studies in Japan.

It hadn't been an easy decision, Akashi could tell, but, it would seem, the great distance had helped in its own way. Without the option of easily boarding a train to see his father, Teikō's former captain was forced to focus on what he _could_ control. Nijimura was able to get a scholarship in his second and third year of high school. Something that had not failed to impress Akashi—in a completely platonic, and unromantic manner. Though, if he is to be honest, there are many things about his former captain that impressed Akashi.

He had kept the older boy's phone number, and they'd kept in contact—very loosely through his first year of high school. Until, after that first Winter Cup, Akashi, having 'found himself' again, had asked to meet (demanded it, in the most polite manner his sentience could conjure). Their first meeting had been painfully awkward, with Akashi apologising for things that Nijimura deemed needed no apology. At least, not to him. Since that day, they'd talk, text, and would meet up occasionally. Because, Akashi admitted to himself, of all the bonds he'd built in middle school, the one he had with Nijimura was the one he held in the highest regard. By far. (He sometimes wondered if this was because it was the only bond that his 'other self' hadn't strained).

Something flutters across his thoughts. Something soft and light, and terribly unwelcome. He grasps the stray feeling with determined hands, and crushes it before it can cause any further trouble.

@

As Midorima would probably agree, it seems that the stars are not aligning in Akashi's favour. Because, as he struggles with the notion of possible feelings—other than the typical senpai-kōhai kind—for his former captain, everything seems to conspire to stoke the fires of these (probably) non-existent feeling.

Oh, how he wants to hate them all.

To further compound his miseries, the boy in question has taken it upon himself to be something of a cheerleader. A manly, wholly unsentimental cheerleader, but still one, nonetheless. Akashi hasn't had someone 'in his corner' since his mother died. Father would never do anything so “middle class”.

The Winter Cup tournament is fast approaching and Rakuzan has—quite predictably—qualified. After a particularly gruelling practice session, one afternoon, Akashi sits on the benches of the locker rooms, towel draped over his head in such a way as to hide himself from the world. An island in the middle of the bustle of the room, so engrossed is he in the text he's viewing on his phone.

It isn't anything terribly out of the ordinary, and can hardly be described as inspired. But... it _is_ from Nijimura. Which, apparently, is enough to dismantle something within him. Akashi scowls, but only for a moment, at the reaction he's unable to tamp down at the thought of Nijimura wishing him luck.

Not that he needs it (as Shūzō so eloquently clarifies). Yet... still. It's a nice thought.

> _Seeing as I won't be able to come and watch, good luck on your matches. Not that you need it. Play nice. And don't kill anyone._

Akashi wrestles the smile that twitches at the corners of his lips with Spartan-like resolve. And wins. Of course. Though, it's just barely.

Briefly, he wonders if the older boy has sent that message—or variants of it—to the rest of his former team-mates. After a moment, he decides that he doesn't quite like the cold ribbon of emotion that curls in his gut at the thought. Jealousy? 

Good heavens, he needs to fix this.

“Bad news?” Mibuchi enquires from somewhere above him. Because, it would seem that his towel is not the formidable, fort-of-steel barrier it once was.

“The worst,” is his reply, before shoving the phone into his bag like a petulant child. As though he's trying to shove Nijimura, and all that his former captain inspires in him, into a deep, dark hole.

It doesn't work.

@

“And you _all_ thought this? Why?”

“Akashi,” Midorima sighs, pausing to adjust his glasses, frustration clearly writ in the sharpness of his gestures. He's annoyed.

Well, good, the redhead thinks, finding a sliver of joy at having someone to share in his new found misery. He had tried—he really had—to let this sleeping dog lie. But he'd failed. Which doesn't cause him nearly as much discomfort as it would have in the past. Only because, well, it would be an even worse failure to not cut this ridiculous idea at the roots.

So he's called up Midorima to delve into the depths of this unfounded theory. This is what he tells himself, staring at the image of Midorima on his computer screen as he subtly carries out his interrogation. The walls of the shooting guard's room are a blindingly sterile shade of white, and Akashi is certain that they smell of disinfectant.

“Well?” the redhead prods, voice deceptively quiet and gentle. Midorima doesn't fall for it, because the taller boy just shrugs.

“It's just something we all thought. They way you followed him around was... well, it was as if you thought he was the greatest thing to ever be created.”

Nijimura-san _was_ great, though, Akashi doesn't say. He was strong, both physically and mentally, bearing the responsibility of looking after his family when his father was ill. He'd also had enough confidence in himself to admit when things were too much. Akashi had been... upset to see him leave. He had always known that captaincy would fall on him, one day. Yet, it hadn't felt quite right to have it given to him under those circumstances—as a result of Nijimura Shūzō's humbling.

“No-one can refute that Nijimura-san was a good captain,” Akashi counters smoothly, not missing a beat.

“There's a fine line between admiration and infatuation. The way you deferred to the man, one would have thought you were taken with him.”

_I was not_ , is what Akashi's mind offers, as his body fights the tremble threatening it. Whether the reaction is brought on by his irritation over his friend's words, or the part of him that is starting to believe this to be true, he can't quite tell.

@

Akashi doesn't even try to hide the small smile that ghosts across his face as he reads the text. He scowls the instant his face has had enough of the pleasant movement of muscles.

_Heavens, this is pathetic_. 

Even so, his heart thrums out a disgustingly uncoordinated, pitter-patter rhythm as he types out his acceptance of Nijimura's offer to meet two Saturdays from then, after the Winter Cup finals.

Mibuchi pins him with a sidelong glance that speaks volumes about the older boy's amusement over his behaviour. Akashi stares back unapologetically, allowing the third year to gauge what he wants. After a moment, Mibuchi smiles warmly.

“Sei-chan, you're growing up so quickly.”

Akashi hides his bafflement with a lukewarm, expressionless stare. Because, it just won't do to have others think that he doesn't understand their quirks, regardless of how incoherent they may seem.

@

The Winter Cup ends in a dizzying, heart-wrenching blur of sweat, tears, and friendly handshakes. Their little group of (almost) friends comes out of the wins and losses unscathed, and Akashi chooses to see it as a testament to their growing maturity.

Kise, blonde and dazzling, suggests they go out for dinner, to catch up before everyone returns to their respective part of Japan. Akashi's tired, and would rather be back in the hotel room he's sharing with Mibuchi, sleeping. However, Mibuchi is not likely to be impressed by this, and will most likely tell him that he's being anti-social. The redhead decides that that is something he'd prefer to avoid, so he acquiesces.

They end up seated at a decent establishment—the tables and cutlery are clean, and the servers seem to be clued in on the ins and outs of hygiene—which is a pleasant surprise, considering (let's-go-somewhere-cheap-'cause-I'm-always-broke) Aomine suggested the place. Somewhere between the end of the main course and after-dinner drinks, Kise unshackles himself from the burden of decorum and stares at Akashi with golden eyes filled with something akin to wonder, and child-like excitement.

“Aomine tells me you have a thing for Nijimura-senpai.”

Midorima chokes on his juice, spraying Kagami—whom nobody invited, by the way—with a fine mist of said beverage. Murasakibara eyes his glass with an unnatural fascination, as though trying to divine Kise's fate from the ripples in the liquid within. Aomine straightens his posture and leans forward, while Kuroko and Momoi sigh in exasperation.

“Aomine shouldn't go around spreading all kinds of non-truths about things he _clearly_ has no grasp on,” Akashi announces by way of response, voice even, gaze Arctic cold. “And you would do well not to entertain his nonsense.”

Akashi had done quite well to put this subject to bed, or, at least, lay it down for a nap, while preparing for the Winter Cup. Now, seated with the very group of people that had nursed the issue into existence, he finds himself thrust into its epicentre. The eye of the emotional storm. He frowns, almost bitterly, at the thought.

“So that's a no, then?” Kise continues, ignoring the finality with which the redhead had spoken. _He's always been rather dense_ , Akashi's softer side offers in the background. “A pity. I was secretly cheering for you. You looked good together, and—“ the blond leans in and smiles, leery, and unashamed about it, “—you were kind of cute running after him all the time. Like a good, little kōhai. I was a little jealous.”

Akashi hears Midorima suck in air through pursed lips, feels the taller boy lean away slightly. He also hears the deep, hearty, yet nervous laugh coming from Aomine. In that moment he knows they're all expecting some violent outburst, or wordy tirade, and he has a good mind to give them just that. But he's so, very tired, unable to successfully separate his own feelings from the ones incited by the group's speculations—he isn't sure if there _is _anything to separate. So, instead, he forces his body to ease out of its uncomfortably rigid posture and smiles just a bit.__

__“It's easy to be a good kōhai, when you have such a good senpai to defer to.” And its mostly true, despite how suggestively he emphasised the 'good'._ _

__Akashi spares a quick glance at a beaming Kise before dragging his gaze over the table. Everyone appears either confused, amused, or shocked. Except Momoi, who's head is tilted to the side, eyes shining. Like a proud mother. The look is a little unsettling, so he shifts his gaze elsewhere._ _

__“You guys are _so_ weird!” Kagami announces, leaning back with poorly feigned nonchalance. And, it would seem, that is the end of that._ _

____

@

It's close to midnight, and Akashi can't sleep. Because, while outside influences seem to have ceased their terrible onslaughts, the damage has already been done.

Life has more or less returned to its usual equilibrium. Well, except for the fact that Akashi finds himself tossing about in his bed, unable to sleep because of a peculiar case of nervousness the night before his... appointment with Nijimura. He hasn't felt this unsettled since his mother fell ill. And that didn't end well for anyone.

He has thought of cancelling, but had just as quickly shunned the idea; Akashi Seijūrō is no coward. Besides, all they have planned is a one-on-one game (because Shūzō's still a beast on the court, despite not being on the first string of his high school team), and a small meal afterwards. 

As his consciousness fades under the weight of exhaustion and drowsiness, he resolves to bury this emotional baggage for the day and be the Seijūrō that Nijimura knows. Polite and friendly—a good kōhai—come what may.

@

A freak rainstorm rolls in (it generally only snows in Tokyo during the winter, rain comes in the summer), bringing their game to an abrupt end without so much as a 'how do you do'. Akashi is entirely unimpressed, and it shows on his face. Nijimura, simply shrugs as he gathers their bags, running for cover under one of the large trees that line the court.

The rain is icy, and, though they have managed to find shelter, Akashi can feel the cold seep in through his clothes. He shivers, despite himself, offering a slight smile when the older boy eyes him suspiciously. Calling for a ride home is definitely on the cards, but a part of him doesn't want to leave just yet.

“Want to come to my place?” Nijimura mumbles, steel-blue eyes not quite meeting his. “My place is nearby. You can get dry before heading home. God knows your old man would probably sue me if you got sick.”

“That would be nice,” the redhead replies, carefully suppressing his glee—yes, _glee_. “Thank you, Nijimura-san.”

A careful shrug of the shoulder is the non-committal response he receives, before the older boy leads the way.

@

Nijimura's place is small, but homely, far more welcoming than Akashi's house has been in a long time, though it is clearly the home of a bachelor. It's also warm—something Akashi is unbelievably thankful for. Though they ran from the courts, ducking under trees and awnings every so often, they still got drenched. And the redhead is openly shivering as he stands at the door, slipping out of his soaked shoes.

“Don't just stand there, brat,” Nijimura growls through clenched teeth, making a good show of seeming unaffected by the cold. “Bathroom, now! I'll get you some clothes.”

In the bathroom, he slowly peels off his clothes and drops them into the bathtub, unsure of whether it's proper to do so. He will have to ask.

He's drying himself with a bright green towel when Nijimura knocks, explaining that he's left some clothing at the door that Akashi can use in the mean time, before marching off.

The clothes are at least two sizes too large, but they're clean, and warm. And they smell, very faintly, of Nijimura himself. The sleeves of the hoodie hang over the tips of his fingers, so he has them rolled just enough to fit, and the shorts he's wearing sit dangerously low on his hips and shift about as though they plan on migrating south.

Father would disown me, Akashi thinks, staring at his reflection. Despite the sight he known he must make, he finds the entire situation comforting, so he doesn't complain.

On his way back to the living room—feet bare and almost soundless against the wooden floors—he pauses sharply at the sight of Nijimura's bare back, a hand reaching for something on the couch. _Martial arts_ , Akashi's mind offers distantly. The older boy hasn't heard his approach, so Akashi steals a moment to take it all in.

The other's sweatpants sit precariously low on his hips as he leans over the back of the couch. Akashi briefly wonders if Nijimura saunters about his apartment topless with barely-hanging-on pants or shorts everyday. Because, if that is the case, he should devise a plan to get himself invited over during the summer.

Then, suddenly, Shūzō's turning around, rolling a shirt over his head and naked skin.

There's a distinctly awkward moment of deafening silence as Akashi meets Nijimura's gaze. A gaze that seems to be doing exactly what his was doing just a moment before. _'Checking him out',_ is what Aomine would have called it. As though appraising another human being could be compared to the process one follows when leaving a hotel. There was no sense to it at all.

Still, despite his sudden self-awareness, Akashi observes the strange look of … something that flickers across his senpai's face before tugging down the shirt, so it sits comfortably.

“It's kind of big,” Nijimura announces—Akashi assumes he's referring to the clothes, because, really, what else could Shūzō be referring to. “But it'll have to do.”

“It's comfortable,” Akashi declares with as warm a smile as he can manage around his suddenly dry throat.

“Good. Tea? Or Coffee?”

“Tea would be nice.”

They drink tea (Nijimura drinks coffee), and talk about things—school, friends, basketball, aspirations for the future—for hours, and, at one point, they eat instant noodles out of disposable cups with cheap chopsticks. It's thoroughly enjoyable, and distracts Akashi from overthinking when they end up sitting terribly close, sides brushing gently. He smiles and laughs genuinely, and listens with heedful enthusiasm as Nijimura lays out his plans for university and beyond.

Nijimura is contemplating moving to America to be closer to his family. “Only because there won't be anything keeping me here after I graduate.”

_I'd like you to stay,_ the redhead doesn't say, even as he nods.

It's with a great deal of reluctance that Akashi slides into the car that has come to collect him. He's still dressed in Nijimura's clothes, and he discreetly stares after the apartment block as the car drives off, lips pursed tightly as revelation hits him like a damp spot on warm laundry—cold, and uncomfortable.

He pulls out his phone and sends a message to Midorima, because the shooting guard is the only who may understand.

It reads:

> _I'm loath to admit that you may have been correct. And I'm certain I will hate you all for it._

@

“You want to buy a gift?” Momoi asks, sounding amused. “And you need my help?”

“You aren't the first person I've asked,” Akashi points out, exasperated by the girl's giddiness over something he wishes to brush off as trivial. “But Mibuchi is preparing for the entrance exam. And none of what he was able to tell me was of any use.” The older boy had merely tried to extricate information from Akashi about who this gift was for. And, while he has mostly accepted his interest in his former captain, he has no desire to speak of it.

“Okay,” Momoi replies, drawing out the word thoughtfully. “So, what's the occasion.”

“I'm being a little presumptuous, but I want it to be a congratulatory gift.”

“Boy or girl?”

Akashi throws a suspicious sidelong glance Momoi's way, because that is the exact line of questioning that Mibuchi had taken when he'd asked the older boy for assistance. “Male.”

“Older or younger?”

“You lack subtlety, you know.”

“You asked for my help, Akashi. I presume it's because you've already deduced that there are few people whose opinions you value highly enough. If you don't like my methods, you're welcome to decide on the gift by yourself.”

There's a heavy pause as they wait each other out. Eventually, Akashi relents, brushing fingers through his hair in resignation. Momoi has always been a formidable opponent. “It's for Nijimura-san. I'm quite confident in his success with the entrance exams, and wish to get him something thoughtful. But not terribly expensive.” His former captain wasn't particularly keen on lavish gifts.

The girl smiles, eyes lighting up with such joy and pride it makes Akashi pause in his thoughts. He quickly adds, “I would appreciate it if you would be as discreet as possible.”

“Naturally,” she says wistfully, looping her arm into his without a second thought. “Now, let's catch you a captain.”

Akashi blinks, somewhat troubled by the implications of Momoi's words. “I'm not trying to court him.”

Momoi only laughs.

@

As predicted, Nijimura excels in the exams, gaining provisional acceptance at a reputable university in Tokyo. He smiles warmly when Akashi hands him his gift—an authentic, limited edition, sports jacket from his favourite basketball team—and pulls the younger boy in for a hug. Akashi fails, spectacularly, at hiding the blush that creeps onto his face. It's a testament to how starved the redhead is for contact that he holds onto Nijumura for a length of time that exceeds what one would deem 'proper'. But, in the moment, he doesn't care for the rules of etiquette. And, if the older boy is uncomfortable with the uncharacteristic display of affection, he doesn't show it.

“You really didn't have to,” Shūzō says when he pulls away.

“I know.”

Akashi only hopes the gift will make up for the clothing he still hasn't returned.

@

The academic year is drawing to a close, and Nijimura is preparing to head west for the break, to visit family. He'll be back for university, Akashi knows this as surely as he knows his own name. Yet, he finds himself standing outside his former captain's door, the bundle of clothes he's been keeping are folded neatly in the sports bag slung over his shoulder.

The door opens and Nijimura's face lights up with surprise. Akashi's heartbeat quickens slightly, and his stomach is attacked by a vicious, fluttery sensation that has him wanting to abandon his dignity, and flee with the clothes. While he can admit to himself, quite easily these days, that he does, in fact, harbour romantic feelings for the older boy, he has recently learned that he wishes for these feelings to be returned.

That's why he's here. Well, at least what he had told himself he was coming here for. But, now, his mouth is dry and his palms are clammy. And the entire situation is entirely ridiculous. So, instead, he holds out the bag by the strap.

“Nijimura-san,” he says in an awkwardly formal tone, one that has the older boy quirking up an eyebrow. “I've come to return your clothes. I know this is well overdue, but...” _I actually just wanted an excuse to see you_ , he finishes silently.

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” A scowl etches itself onto the older boy's face, briefly.

“I assure you they're clean. I made certain of it.”

“I'm sure you did.”

They stand there for a period of time that is inappropriately long, simply staring at each—Akashi wanting to close the gap between them, Nijimura looking expectant.

“You're still such a brat,” Nijimura mumbles, more to himself than at Akashi, placing the bag just inside the doorway. He takes a step toward Akashi and leans forward, right into the redhead's space. Akashi doesn't back away.

“I'm not a brat,” he protests mildly, ignoring the hammering of his heart that he is sure Nijimura can hear. “I-”

A flick to the forehead halts his train of thought and he rubs at the spot, though it doesn't hurt. He frowns at the other, expecting some sort of explanation.

“You know, Akashi, for someone so smart...” Nijimura leans in so closely that their breaths mingle, “you're quite dense.”

“Not dense. Tentative. More so when I don't have a good grasp on what's going on.”

“You _are_ dense if you still don't know.”

At that, Akashi stands up to his full height, and tilts his chin cup to press somewhat inexperienced lips to his former captain's slightly dry ones. The mess of a kiss takes both of them by surprise, even though it is obviously the direction in which their wordy exchange was heading. After a moment, Nijimura pulls back and tilts his head to the side, ducking in to initiate a deeper kiss.

At some point, they both agree that it would better to continue their activities inside Nijimura's apartment as opposed to outside, in the hallway.

@

The day before Nijimura leaves, Akashi makes him promise to return. It isn't necessary, but the older boy indulges him, bringing a smile to the redhead's lips.

Lips he later employs to kiss Nijimura senseless.

@

“You look happy,” Momoi comments after a game of three-on-three with his former team-mates and Kagami (who claims to have been in the neighbourhood). The weather has grown warmer, and they're taking advantage of the fact that they're all more-or-less free during the holidays. The girl is far too adept at reading people for her own good. Akashi merely nods, noting the curious way in which Aomine is leaning toward them.

“I'm told that there's much to be happy about,” he says sagely, slinging his towel around his neck. “Not so, Momoi?”

She giggles, a sound that is both endearing and telling. “Indeed. And I'm glad... that you're happy. It's a good look on you.”

“I agree,” Kuroko quietly offers from thin air, eyes unblinking yet amused. The look is always a little unsettling, as though the blue-eyed wonder is staring right into his soul.

“You think?” Aomine chimes in, unceremoniously plopping himself on the ground. “It looks kinda scary if you ask me. Like he's planning something.”

“Nobody asked you, Aomine-kun,” Kuroko points. Momoi concurs. Kagami gets involved somehow, and an arguments breaks out.

The banter fades into white noise as Akashi mulls over his thoughts. He _is_ planning something. Nijimura is due back in a few days, and Akashi has already started easing his father into allowing him to visit Tokyo every weekend, for 'academic purposes'. While the tutors at Rakuzan are more than competent, Akashi has made it known that no one teaches quite like his former captain. Nijimura's stellar grades have certainly helped Akashi's case.

Summer is upon them, and Akashi knows for a fact that, when the heat is blistering, Shūzō prefers to go topless.

Akashi is definitely plotting. And he can say, without doubt, that he's happy to have the opportunity to do so.

**Author's Note:**

> I am trying to continue with my unfinished works, but time, and mental blocks are making it nigh impossible. Please bear with me.


End file.
